


but if you send for me (you know i'll come)

by bilexualclarke (ohalaskayoung)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, also Lexa rides a motorcycle, and they talk about Costia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohalaskayoung/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Will she be upset that you brought me here?” Clarke asks as they neared the front door. </p><p>Lexa’s lips quirked up in a small smirk. They were full, and pink, and Clarke wet her own subconsciously as she stared. </p><p>“No. She’s not the jealous type. Plus, I’ve been telling her about you for months.”</p><p>Clarke stopped walking. “You have?” she asked, her cheeks flushing pink.</p><p>“Of course. She knows all about the cute blonde artist who always forgets to turn off her porch lights in the morning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	but if you send for me (you know i'll come)

**Author's Note:**

> “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard” AU

Clarke Griffin knew three things about the girl next door.

One: Her name was Lexa.

Two: She had recently broken up with her live-in girlfriend, Anya, and the fight that had led to the schism had occurred on the front lawn at 3 AM and had the neighborhood talking for weeks.

Three: On the third Saturday of every month, she slipped into Clarke’s backyard and stole a handful of flowers from her garden before hoping on her motorcycle and disappearing for a few hours.

On the third Saturday of May, as Clarke watched the brunette pluck a two daisies from her kitchen window, she decided it was about time she learned a few more things.  

“Hey!” 

Lexa jumped when Clarke opened the window and called out to her. She hastily tried to put the flowers back, but since they were already ripped from the roots, she ended up just tossing them back onto the soil and looking back at Clarke with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

Four: Lexa has green eyes. 

Clarke bit her lip, finding her more and more adorable each second. 

“I’m so sorry, I was just-”

“Is there room for two on your bike?” Clarke asked. Lexa frowned.

“My bike?”

“I figured you should take me with you,” Clarke continued, “so I can see for myself if that girl is worthy of flower theft. I plant those myself, you know.”

Lexa’s eyes flickered toward the daisies and she stooped down to pick them up again. “There’s room.”

* * *

Five: Lexa smelled like pine. 

Clarke buried her face into Lexa’s back as she takes them down unfamiliar roads, her arms wrapped around Lexa’s stomach. Every time she inhales, she thinks about Christmas. 

“This is quite a ways away,” Clarke mused, propping her chin on Lexa’s shoulder as she made her ninth left turn. “She must really be something.”

She felt Lexa’s stomach muscles clench beneath her hands, and her breath hitched.

“You have no idea,” Lexa said over her shoulder. Clarke gave her a small smile and tucked her face behind Lexa’s back again. 

* * *

Six: Lexa had a scar beneath her collarbone.

The jagged pink line marred the smooth skin that was exposed when she unzipped her jacket to remove the bouquet of daisies. They had stopped outside a small, rundown cabin, the last house on a dead end street. Lexa gestured for Clarke to follow as she headed up the beaten dirt path to the front door.

“Will she be upset that you brought me here?” Clarke asks as they neared the front door. 

Lexa’s lips quirked up in a small smirk. They were full, and pink, and Clarke wet her own subconsciously as she stared. 

“No. She’s not the jealous type. Plus, I’ve been telling her about you for months.”

Clarke stopped walking. “You have?” she asked, her cheeks flushing pink.

“Of course. She knows all about the cute blonde artist who always forgets to turn off her porch lights in the morning.”

Lexa bounded up the front steps and rapped twice on the door. A tall man with dark skin and salt and pepper hair opened it and immediately drew Lexa into a tight embrace.

“Lexa,  _dous mwen_ ,” he whispered, patting her hair. “It’s good to see you.” 

His eyes found Clarke, who was still standing a few feet before the porch. “You brought a friend.”

“This is Clarke,” Lexa explained, giving the blonde and encouraging smile. “She grows the flowers.”

Clarke slowly walked up the steps and gave the man a nervous grin. “Hello, sir.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled warmly. “The flowers are always beautiful, Clarke.”

She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

The man nodded at Lexa. “You know the way. I’ll start the tea.”

Lexa took a deep breath and grabbed Clarke’s hand. “Follow me.”

* * *

Seven: Lexa had incredibly soft hands.

They trembled as they walked through the house, out the back door, and down a worn path through the backyard and into the woods. Clarke tightened her grip, but the shaking didn’t stop. 

She wasn’t so sure that they were visiting a girl anymore.

After walking for about a quarter mile, Lexa stopped before a small clearing. Clarke’s heart leapt to her throat when she saw the small headstone and, piled on the ground below it, dozens of dead, withered bouquets. 

“Lexa,” she whispered, “I didn’t know-”

“Of course you didn’t.” Lexa squeezed her hand and tugged her forward. “It’s okay.” 

They sat cross-legged in front of the stone as Lexa brushed the old bouquets away. Then she traced her fingers over the etchings, and Clarke noticed how her hands no longer shook.

**COSTIA ST. CROIX**

**1990-2011**

**BELOVED BY ALL**

**BATAY OU SE SOU**

“Who was she?” Clarke finally asked, placing a hand on Lexa’s knee.

“Mine,” Lexa said, staring straight ahead. “My everything. My best friend. My first love. My biggest mistake.”

She turned her head, and Clarke was shocked to see no tears in her eyes. “It’s because of me she’s dead.”

Eight: Lexa was brutually honest. 

“She moved here from Haiti when we were eight. She didn’t speak a lick of English, but I taught her. Every day after school we’d come out here and I’d write words in the dirt with my fingers and teach her how to say them. When we were fourteen, I kissed her right beneath that tree over there. We were together ever since.

“When I was eighteen, a drunk driver killed my parents, and I didn’t greive right. I found a bad crowd who loved to mope as much as I did, and pushed everyone away. I tried to push her away, too, but she stayed with me through it all. The lies, the fights, the drugs, the drinking. I took her for granted.”

Lexa placed the bouquet of daisies on the ground. “I ended up in a bad way with some worse people, and I took it too far one night. Tried to fight this girl, even threatened the rest of her group. They let me go, and I thought I was lucky. But then Costia’s body turned up the next morning.”

Clarke wiped away the stray tear that fell from her eyes and inched closer to Lexa. “You can’t blame yourself for that, Lexa.”

“Yes, I can,” Lexa snapped, her voice hard. “And I will for the rest of my days. I am at peace with that.”

She softened, then, and let out a shaky breath. Clarke wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close, and Lexa immediately tucked her head into the crook of Clarke’s neck. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I wanted you to know that about me, Clarke. It’s part of who I am.”

Clarked smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she could stop herself. “I want to learn everything about you.”

Nine: Lexa’s kisses tasted like rain.

* * *

Fourteen: She always asked for a second helping of the bread they gave you at restaurants. 

* * *

Thirty-Six: Lexa had the worst morning breath but could make a mean omelette.

* * *

Fifty-Four: She didn’t like to wear bras around the house. 

* * *

One Hundred and One: Lexa cried when she said “I do”.

Clarke did, too.  

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (from Haitian Creole to English):
> 
> Dous mwen- My sweet
> 
> Batay ou se sou- Your fight is over


End file.
